Everything That Bleeds
by xXfireXflyXx
Summary: Lord Voldemort kidnaps the Plant Queen and the Clown Prince of Gotham as weapons for war. Little does he know, he may have cost himself his best lieutenant in the process.
1. Arkham

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**Welcome to my first **_**ever**_** crossover here on . I think this will be one of my most challenging fics yet, because I'm going to hold myself to a personal standard of not only writing the Joker properly, but also Poison Ivy (never written her before) and other DC characters, along with my two personal favourites from Harry Potter; Voldemort and Bellatrix. Therefore, any and all constructive criticism will be much appreciated, so long as it's actually helpful. I do always love getting feedback, regardless. **

**This series came to me in the spur of a moment, and I had to get it started ASAP before I lose the thrill of it. Now, if you're a fan of my work, you'd know that I think anyone other than Voldemort for Bellatrix is absolutely sacrilegious, but we'll see how this swings. **

**Also, I can shamelessly admit that the beginning of this little scene was heavily drawn on from a scene in **_**Batman: The Animated Series**_**. That moment in time spawned my love for a potential Joker and Poison Ivy relationship, if one could call it that. **

**I wasn't particularly sure what 'Batman' to place this series under – the comics or the movies. For now, I'll put in the comics section, but I think that makes it even more imperative to keep my DC babies as IC as possible. **

**Much love to all! Hope I can entertain! **

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><p>You know, for all the time Joker had spent in Arkham, one might think that he would hate it. However, despite the popular opinion of the guards, he <em>loved<em> the mental institution. Now, keep in mind that he had a distinction between loving the establishment itself, and hating the fact that he was locked inside for the umpteenth time in the past year. What he loved about the place was simple; a limitless supply of potential weapons, cowering doctors, and psychotic patients. It was almost as if they had specifically designed this place to be his own personal playground. For most of the day, he lounged about in his cell, eyeing the pretty new interns whenever they walked past the bullet-proof glass wall that sealed his enclosure. He had a cot to himself, a desk with no pens or paper, and a urinal in the corner. Mealtimes were a particular favourite of his, because the kitchen boys were never properly equipped emotionally to deal with his torment. Despite the fact that the food was nothing better than squishy vegetables in some weird mash, Joker enjoyed it. He didn't need to cook for himself, and his taste buds had become so accustomed to the dull, flavourless meal that every single one of them was a pleasure and a half.

His other favourite time of the day was recreational time. The patients were let out in groups into a large indoor den. There were a few chess boards with remarkably dull points atop their bishops, a pool table with no cues, and a singular television that requires some tampering with in order to get a proper signal. He liked to sit and watch the news, if he could, and fight with one Miss Poison Ivy for control over the remote whenever she was in his recreation group. She hated him. She despised every inch of him, but Joker had a feeling the redheaded vixen had similar thoughts about all men. Everything about her was delicious, when he was in the right mood. When he wasn't, he probably would have had more fun throwing her through a window.

Now, the Arkham guards liked to think they owned him. Whenever they got a spare moment in a corridor where there were no cameras, they certainly got their kicks in. Little did they know his tolerance for pain was remarkably high, and he nearly enjoyed every minute of their sorry efforts to break him. The only man who could ever do that was, perhaps, Batsy. And maybe that new Bane fellow he had heard rumours about, but he had yet to have the delight of meeting the fellow. Maybe one day. But Batsy… The Batman really got to him. The winged vigilante was too good at their game for him to kill, but Joker liked to think they were evenly matched. Unfortunately, Bats was beginning to pick up on his tricks, and as much as he tried to be unpredictable, the caped crusader was starting to realize his favourites. Gun powder. Huge explosions. Public displays. Drops from high buildings – other people, not Joker. Pitting two people against each other. All of that was right up his alley. Bats also knew Joker was more than willing to die in order to prove a point, and had successfully foiled that many times. In fact, it had happened so often that Joker had been put on suicide watch for a month when he arrived at Arkham last time.

Not that he would ever off himself in somewhere like Arkham. If he was going to die, he wanted brain matter to splatter on someone it would properly traumatize. No one in here would be able to appreciate the beauty in his death, and he was saving it for someone who would see the poetry in it. Bats might, but he knew the man would turn inward over his inability to save Joker, and that really wasn't as much fun. So, he kept himself in good condition. Well, as good a condition as one can be in with minimal sunlight and a lack of a proper diet. It wasn't difficult to understand why so many of the people that hadn't been out in the real world for a while looked like walking corpses. Joker had the sheer luck of having a solid outside crew who always had a knack for springing him free at the perfect time. That was generally around the time when his loving feelings for the prison turned remarkably neutral, and that was always a bad sign. He was a man of polar emotions, and feeling neutral was something that he considered unacceptable.

At the moment, he was in a state of love for Arkham. A fresh load of crazies had been brought in from psychiatric evaluation in Gordon's holding cells, and that meant there was new meat to pick at in recreational time. However, rather than zeroing in on one and finding out his own personal weaknesses, Joker decided to take it easy for the day and torment Miss Pamela Isley, also known as Poison Ivy. They hadn't had recreation time together for about two weeks because he provoked a fight with her last time, and she nearly gauged his eyes out. Ah, what a day.

Smoothing down the front of his patient uniform, which was a stark white pair of pants and shirt, easily transitional into a strait-jacket, Joker strolled casually through the rec den. There was a man who thought he was a bird sitting on the pool table, picking at the green surface, his face only a few inches above it, while across the room a young Doctor Crane played chess with the new inmate. Ivy had already claimed a seat in front of the television, and by the symbol at the top of the screen he knew she was on the Home Gardening Network. A smirk settled on his dry lips, and he slid onto the spot on the couch next to her with ease, startling her when she realized he was there.

"Fuck off, Clown," she said abruptly as she shot him a glare out of the corner of her eye. He pouted dramatically, and then placed an arm over the back of the couch.

"Why all the hostility, Red?" Joker inquired softly, his cracked lips now close to her ear, "Does that mean you didn't miss me while we were apart?"

"Get away from me," she snarled, and then shoved his arm off her as she scooted down the couch.

"Come on, baby… Together, apart, you've taken up the only slot within my heart-"

"Go fuck yourself."

"Quite an excessive use of the word 'fuck' today, Miss Isley," Joker noted professionally, adjusting a pair of imaginary glasses on his nose. "According to our research, that means your subconscious desires a good fucking."

"You're vile!"

Joker burst out laughing as she stood up from the couch and stormed off, calling for the guard and demanding she be brought back to her room. She must have been in a mood today, because normally he could have a little more fun with her before she went into the fight or flight mode. With a shrug, he slouched into the couch and snatched up the remote, pleased to have total control over the tube box for a change. He then flipped arbitrarily through channels until he landed on the news, and that was where he stuck. There was a lot of Batman bashing on the news, and as much as he liked it for a good laugh, it only cemented the notion that Gotham's media were idiots. How could they not see that this do-gooder was on their side? They _should_ be bashing Joker, but then again, no one in media had any real balls to speak of, so that wasn't about to happen anytime soon.

Absently picking at the scar tissue on his lips, he rolled his eyes when the news station moved onto sports, and he then picked up the remote to find something else interesting. Nothing, however, managed to keep his attention for long, and he decided just to hold down the channel button and zone out as the channels changed in rapid succession. He did that for quite some time, until a guard snatched the clicker out of his hand and set it out of his reach.

"If you can't decide, I'll decide for you," the man snapped irritably. Then, just to make sure Joker didn't resume his activities once the man left, he actually had the audacity to take the batteries out of the device and leave him stuck on Ivy's fucking gardening channel. He glared at the screen as the camera panned through an elderly woman's leafy greens, and the redheaded bitch from before slid back onto the couch, a good gap between them. He looked at her, expressionless for a moment, and then stuck his tongue out.

"You're _such_ a child, Joker," she sneered in response, and then focused her attention back on the screen. He grinned. If he wanted to, he could call all the other would be villains by their first names, but none of them could say the same for Joker. That was because most of these people had been Gotham citizens before they went all loopy, while Joker had sprung up from chaos itself, with no real history or background in mind. Hell, at this point, he didn't even know which one of his stories was true. Therefore, he enjoyed the strange power he had over the other criminals in here; they could take everything personally, while Joker was the exact opposite. Nothing was personal or permanent, and that was the way he liked it.

"What gets you off about plants, Pammy?" he inquired, his tone bored as he cocked his head to the side at the television screen. She pursed her lips at the interruption, and only gave him any attention when he repeated the question, word for word.

"They are perfection," Poison Ivy replied, a clear love for the subject matter in her voice, "and divine. There's nothing in this world that can match what they give us selflessly."

"Well, you gotta water 'em, feed 'em, take 'em out for walks…" Joker trailed off, batting his eyelashes at her as she glared.

"Those are dogs."

"Same thing."

She growled and crossed her arms over her chest, staring at the screen pointedly as she no doubt tried to ignore his presence. Oh baby, get ready. This was only the first wave of the attack. Joker turned his body to face her, arm on the back of the couch as he reached out to fiddle with a piece of her long, thick red hair. However, before he could get a grip on it, there was a loud explosion from somewhere within Arkham. He and Ivy immediately faced the direction of the sound, while he heard Crane chuckle as the new patient whimpered in the background.

This wasn't right. His guys shouldn't be getting him out now. He wasn't bored enough yet. He rose to his feet, but suddenly found a nearby guard pointing a gun at him.

"Sit the fuck back down!" the man shouted as another explosion rocked the building, "Like hell we're going to be responsible for you escaping again!"

"Relax, _friend_," Joker grunted, holding up his hands peacefully. "Nobody's supposed to be here for me today."

"Bullshit."

"If I was fleeing the coop, I would have already had you on the ground," Joker informed the man as he ignored the previous order and walked around the couch, staring at the door as the guards bolted it shut. He had a feeling rec time was going to be more interesting today than he had previously hoped. His female companion was also on her feet, and suddenly she was beside him.

"Are you getting out today?" she whispered. He shot her a look, and then smirked.

"Suddenly I'm not so bad, eh?"

The look of disgust meant she still saw him as unappealing, but he figured she would jump on any chance to get out of here and get back to her beloved plants. That was Ivy's weakness; she had no human counterparts to work for her. Sure, plants were great when you can control them, but she couldn't count on a tree to come bust her out of here.

He shook his head at the sound of men screaming on the other side of the locked door, and then arched an eyebrow, "My guys aren't here today. Maybe it's for Doctor Demento?"

"I happen to enjoy my sentence," Crane remarked, causing them both to flinch at his sudden appearance at their side. "I assumed it was for you… No one else breaks out of here in such boisterous style."

"Not guilty," Joker stated, making a cross over his heart, "though I'd like to be. Fastest break-in I've ever seen… Maybe Bats wants to spring us?"

"He doesn't like you as much as you think," Ivy remarked callously, only to scream in shock as the door of the rec room was blasted open. These guys had to be packing some serious heat if they had gotten in here _this_ quickly with this many explosions. Joker shielded his face slightly as bits of wall and rubble shot back at him, and the criminals were finally given a chance to get a look at the people who might be their ticket out of Arkham. However, there wasn't really much time to get a good picture of them, and their appearance made matters worse. They were completely covered in black robes that swished with each movement, and their faces had a white mask to skew their appearance. They all seemed a little too dramatic, and Joker wondered if they were part of the League of Assassins.

Those fuckers were actually all kinds of crazy.

Crane backed away as the figures swept into the room, and Joker felt himself being dragged back by Poison Ivy. Well, that was surprising. He watched as the guards raised their guns on the intruders and opened fire without hesitation. Remarkably, the masked avengers waved their little sticks in the air, and deflected the bullets with ease. Joker grinned.

"Gotta get me one of _those_," he laughed above the roar of bedlam, pushing Ivy off his arm as he took a few steps forward, eyes hungry for more action. Before he could hope for long, the men flicked their sticks and shouted words in Latin, and bright jets of light shot out of the end of the sticks. When they hit a guard, the man was sent flying backward, and from what Joker could see, he was knocked out on impact.

_Definitely_ got to grab one of those. These guys had to be funded by some government agency, because no one else out there had laser sticks. Or. Whatever the hell they were called. Joker stood perfectly still as the cloaked figures stalked toward him, and he cocked his head to the side curiously as his wide eyes studied them. Arms hanging limp at his side, he blinked lazily, more interested than intimidated.

"Joker?" a gruff voice demanded from beneath the mask, and Joker came to the acute realization that there was a British accent present. Wonderful; he loved welcoming foreigners to Gotham. He liked to think he was the city's Poster Boy.

"Who are you?" Poison Ivy asked as she stood by Joker's side. She sounded much less pleased to have the intruders in her prison, despite her previous eagerness to escape by his side. The figure before them raised his weapon, and in an instant a beam of light shot forward and hit Ivy square in the chest. She plummeted to the ground, eyes wide open, and appeared frozen in time. Joker stared down at her for a moment, and then swung his fist upward into the attacker with full force, cracking the man's mask upon impact. The man's companions were soon rushing toward the scene, and Joker shrugged passively.

"Tit for tat, Stranger," he trilled as he crouched down over the fallen man, his mask cracked from the nose upward. Too bad he couldn't see the blood. Joker reached out, fingers stretching to remove the ambiguous white face from his sight. He wanted to see what was underneath. Too many people wore masks these days! Unfortunately, before his fingers could touch the glorious covering, a beam of light flew into his chest, knocking the wind out of him and sending him into the black abyss.

Foiled again.


	2. New Life

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**For those of you who are more HP fans than Batman, I'll just let you know – Arkham is an insane Asylum in Gotham, where the Joker escapes from. **_**A lot.**_** Serious security issues there, obviously. **

**Pamela Isley (and all variations of her name by our favourite clown) is the villain Poison Ivy. She's a total baller, and I really love her in the comics and the animated series. Harley, who is mentioned briefly in this chapter, is Joker's number two, potential love interest in the comics, but also part of a gal-pal team with Poison Ivy whenever Joker gets sick of her and kicks her out. She might make an appearance. I think she's actually my favourite. **

**There are heaps of good Wikipedia pages out there on her, so if you are a little unsure, give it a read. Hell, that's what I'm doing. Trying to keep some little bit of canon going hurr! Much love!**

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><p>Well, fuck. Joker had no idea what kind of drug he was hit with to knock him out like that, but it sure did one Hell of a job at keeping him under. When he felt a hand smack against his cheek, it seemed as though he was being roused from a blissful nap. A ridiculously long, blissful nap… one that was now being ruined by someone hitting him in the face. He groaned noisily and tried to bat the hand away, forcing his eyes shut tighter. The hand moved from his face to his shoulder, and he was suddenly shaken violently from his position on the floor.<p>

"What?" he whined half-heartedly, "Just five more minutes, Ma."

"Stop playing around, Joker!"

His eyes flickered open, and he glared up at a familiar face, "Hello, friend."

Poison Ivy rolled her eyes heavenward, and then glared. She wasn't exactly the first person he wanted to see in a situation like this, but it might be better to have her as a friend than an adversary. He had a sinking suspicion that they had been kidnapped from Arkham Asylum, rather than sprung free, and it was now he needed to get his wits together. Sure, he _was_ the Joker, but he wasn't a complete fucking idiot. Beneath that giggling, psychotic exterior was the mind of a man who understood finesse and the importance of thinking ahead.

Sort of.

He sat up with a groan, his head a little beaten up, and then rubbed his eyes. From what he could tell, they had been transported to some medieval-style dungeon, complete with chains around their ankles. Both were still clad in their prison uniforms, though they did seem a little dirtier than he remembered, but otherwise they were in fairly good condition. Well, for now. If someone had the guts to shackle the Joker and Miss Pammy to the ground, they had balls. Balls to do serious damage. Time to get serious. Serious, serious, serious. He curled his tongue and clicked it on the roof of his mouth, taking in every inch of the room. Low ceiling, no windows, and a dingy smell that was enough to make you nauseous if you were anyone but Joker. Mind you, Ivy was probably enjoying that fresh dirt odour that the place gave off.

"Any idea where we are?" she inquired as she tugged at the shackle around her ankle, her green eyes narrowed at it.

"I…" he trailed off, trying to picture some place in Gotham that this might remind him off, but everything he could think of failed. "Haven't the foggiest, baby. Like I said before, maybe Bats sprung us, and we're in the infamous batcave!"

"Highly unlikely," she retorted dismissively, her thin fingers now trying to turn to screws on the shackles. "I know I didn't see much of the brutes that broke into Arkham, but they weren't working for Batman."

Joker felt his eyes narrow involuntarily, and he crossed his arms over his chest like a toddler, "What makes you think you know him better than I do?"

Bitch. He and Batman were made for each other in every sense of the word; foes until the end. If anyone knew what Batman was thinking, or how he planned to catch a villain… Well, it was the Joker. Naturally, he wasn't always _thinking_ about what Bats was up to while in the middle of a heist, but hey, throw him a bone here. He can't always be tuned in with the guy. However, although he didn't want to give her the credit she probably deserved, Pamela was right. This wouldn't be Batman's style. He wouldn't bust into Arkham – with henchmen nonetheless! – to break out two completely different villains, and then take them back to his private lair… For what? A torture session? No. Not his style. He screwed his face in thought, mentally running through a list of villains and other street gangs in Gotham that may have it out for him and Ivy. After all, who would have the power to get into the asylum that quickly? It seemed like these guys were packing the heat if they could blast through the walls as efficiently as they did.

"I can't think of someone that would want us both," Ivy said, as though on the same wavelength. "Outside of Arkham, we have _no_ affiliation, aside from Harley."

Ahh, Harley baby. His little minx must have some idea that he was kidnapped. She was probably working around the clock to try and figure out what happened to him! This must have hit the papers…

"I'm sure my girl's handling the situation," Joker remarked absently, a mental image of his lover in her harlequin outfit kicking teeth in to find an explanation for his disappearance. "Bet she'll be the one to find us."

"I love the girl, but I think that's pushing it a little," she mused, earning her a look from Joker. Ehhh, she was probably right. The kid meant well, but Harley was a little short in the brains department sometimes. Was it due to him? Maybe. But that couldn't really be the key focus in his mind right now. A thought struck him.

"Luthor?"

"Lex Luthor?" she repeated, a dark expression on her face suddenly, "From Metropolis? No… He wouldn't be that public with the kidnapping. It would have been a silent assassination, if anything."

"Hmm."

Fuck. Who the hell had them captive? This was starting to get a little frustrating. They began listing off characters who might be their kidnappers, but each time they did, the other would reject the suggestion with a reason why it would be impossible. A good half hour passed, at least, and Joker was starting to get antsy. And bored. By now, he was up on his feet, pacing the stone floor as far as his chain would allow, while Ivy remained seated, her knees drawn up to her chest, her face in a constant state of concentration.

"All right, let's just forget our kidnappers for now," she said finally as Joker continued to file through his mental cabinet of potential new enemies in Gotham and the surrounding areas. "How can we get out of here?"

"That poison in your lips eat through metal?" he inquired, referring to her unique ability to spread toxin through her lips. She arched an eyebrow and gave him an annoyed look, to which he shrugged, "Just a suggestion, Sugar Lips."

"Do you see any tools around here we could potentially use?" Ivy carried on, getting up on all fours and feeling around the dark corners for something of use. Joker leaned to the side a little, his eyes grazing over her behind quickly before examining the floor himself. What? He couldn't help it. He had a dick, okay? Therefore, it was justifiable to give a girl on her knees the once over.

Suddenly, the lock on the dark wooden door across the room clicked open noisily, and Joker cocked his head, arms limp at his side, and stared blankly at the figures who marched in. Men in long cloaks. No masks this time, but they were average looking fellows. Joker was quick to take in the three that now stood before him. One with obnoxiously long blond hair, a hint of a blond beard, and cold eyes. To his left, a remarkably short man, with a rattail haircut and a hand crafted of silver... Perhaps a prosthetic. Finally, at the very end, a man robed completely in black, greasy white skin, and black hair close to his shoulders. They were all quite different, and none dressed how one might expect a Gothamite gangster to dress. No, they were odd. Almost a strange mix between this century and the last, and he found it an enigma. Goodness, where was Edward when you needed him?

"Gentlemen," he greeted with a swooping bow. "Welcome to our love nest. Refreshments are on the table over there," he pointed at nothing in the corner to his right, "and feel free to sample the vegetarian dish… Made specially by my special lady."

Joker gave his companion a wink, making her roll her eyes and sigh patronizingly. None of them seemed to be up for a laugh, and they kept their expressions neutral. The one in the centre stepped forward, and barked nasally, "Kneel."

He blinked a few times, pursed his lips, and then leaned a little closer, "What?"

"Kneel down," the squat man repeated. He noted the fellow to his left, the darker one, rolled his eyes a little, but said nothing. Disunity. Joker smirked, and then shook his head.

"No."

"Kneel, or I'll _make_ you kneel," the fellow growled, his accent clearly British. Was there a British gang in Gotham? Not that he was aware of… Maybe they were new. Trying to establish their place in the hierarchy. Well, if this was what they had to offer, he would put them a smidge above the Canadians, but not by much. He exhaled noisily, flapping his lips together as the air pushed forward, and then shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

"No."

Suddenly, the fellow had a little stick in his hand, and Joker's eyebrows knitted together curiously. Before he could say anything further, the man shouted, "Crucio!"

A spark of light flew from the stick and knocked the clown off his feet, pain seeping into every pore of his body. It wasn't excruciating, but it was enough to leave a bit of a twinge when it stopped. Most people were unaware of how much pain he could tolerate, but it had been a blessing since day one. How else was he supposed to handle the beating Bats gave him every time he took him down? The man seemed quite smug that he had gotten Joker to the ground, but it was more from the force of the blow than the level of pain. He stared at the weapon for a moment, and then inched forward a little in a strange little crab-walk, "What is that?"

"Where are we?" Ivy demanded, her voice calm, but assertive. She seemed to want to deflect attention off of his ridiculousness and get back to the situation at hand. A fair thought, but he had gotten bored, and now he wanted to play.

"Care to let me have a go with that?" Joker inquired, nodding toward the stick, "I promise I'll be gentle."

He was greedy. A new weapon? It was brilliant. Just fucking fantastic. Something that shot light and caused pain? Sign him up _now_.

"Stop it," Pamela hissed as she got to her feet. "This isn't the time for you to be you."

"What's to love if I'm not me?"

"Enough."

The voice cut through the room with such authority that it actually managed to get Joker's attention. For real. Real, genuine attention. The three men bowed as a cloaked figure entered the dungeon, his steps slow and purposeful, and it was at that moment that Joker realized they weren't in some run of the mill gang as hostages. This was something that ran much deeper than that. Joker's beady little eyes gave the man a once over, for the first time wondering if they might be dealing with some supernatural entity here. It wouldn't be the first time one of those arose in Gotham, but he hadn't been blessed enough to deal with them firsthand. This new character was tall, slim, and with skin paler than all the rest. His voice was high, a little nasally, but dangerous enough to silence a room. The most curious aspect of him was his face; contorted to look like that of a snake. Slits for nose, maroon eyes, and a thin mouth… A man after his own heart with the theatrics.

As he swept in, a woman followed him, looking as twisted as any other Arkham inmate might. Had he missed her in one of the cells? He gave her the once over too, just to be safe; matted dark hair, large sunken eyes, and pale pink lips. Her mouth curved into a crooked grin, and she had one of those sticks in her hand too. While the rest of the men bowed, she crouched a little behind the snake-fellow, her own eyes taking in Joker and Ivy once before giving her attention back to the man in charge. Joker did the same.

"Well, hello handsome," he greeted, leaning back against the wall in a feigned defeat, his arms resting on his bent knees. "You look like someone I could play with."

"Shall I teach him to speak when spoken to?" the woman sneered, levelling her stick at his face. The serpent-man chuckled, and then touched her hand delicately, causing her cheeks to tint noticeably in the darkness.

"Now, now, Bella," he insisted, his maroon eyes still fixed on Joker. "That will come in time. Patience… He is still ignorant."

"Aren't you the charmer?" Joker laughed, a little put off that he had been called ignorant. He _hated_ it when people thought they were better than him. Usually, they were right from a moral standpoint, but these guys abducted him and beat him a little… He'd like to think they were closing the gap between morality checkpoints.

"We'd like to know why we're here," Ivy interjected, cutting him off before he could say more. "It's not that I'm unhappy to be out of the asylum, but I'd rather not go from one prison to another."

The snake turned his dark eyes toward Joker's companion, and then took a step before her. The woman held her ground, an eyebrow raised, arms folded over her chest, and Joker realized that he might actually have a sturdy counterpart in this mess. A lot of other convicts who claimed to fight for the dark side tended to give up when a little pressure was exerted on them. However, Ivy always stood her ground. He had not only read about her exploits in her mission to save world greenery in the paper, but he had heard firsthand accounts from Harley. She was more than willing to push back when someone gave her a shove.

"As eloquent as I expected," the serpent purred, his hands clasped behind his back as he studied the redhead. "Is it true you have the ability to control all plants, Pamela?"

The woman looked momentarily affronted, as if it were odd that someone might not know of her abilities in Gotham, and then scoffed, "Who are you?"

"Is it true?"

The room fell silent, all eyes on Pammy dearest, and she shifted in place, before finally replying, "It's true."

"Good," the man sighed. "I'm pleased to see we have the right person… this time."

He shot a look over to the squat man behind him, making the little sausage cower in place, his hands shaking under his superior's glare.

"However, I will need you to prove it."

Joker leaned around him and watched the blond man, the silent, somewhat steely one, produce a wilted rose. He then handed it to the woman, who passed it along tenderly to her boss, who then held it out for Ivy to examine, "Bring it back to life."

"Tell me who you are first."

"You need to give a little to get, my dear," the man insisted, shoving the wilting plant at her. "Now do it, or I'll kill your clown."

"Go ahead," she snorted defiantly with a shrug. "He isn't _my_ clown."

"My heart," Joker wailed. "My broken heart!"

The other woman stalked across the room and shoved her stick against his temple, her eyes eager to inflict some sort of suffering. He gazed up at her, wiggled his eyebrows, and then stuck his tongue out to lick the tip of her weapon. She recoiled a smidge, and then rammed it a little harder into his skull, "My lord, just say the word."

Her 'lord', however, still had his attention directed solely toward Ivy, the rose extended, and he said nothing. It definitely didn't take long; Joker knew Pammy couldn't resist helping a plant in need. She hastily snatched it up and cradled it close to her chest, two slim fingers running over the stem, thorns and petals. A minute passed, perhaps a smidge more, and the entire room watched the petals colour brilliantly, and the drooped head straightened out perfectly. She stroked it affectionately, and then with some hesitation, handed it back over to the serpent for examine. His own long, white fingers held it up, and when he seemed satisfied, he tossed it aside into the darkness.

"Be careful!" Ivy exclaimed, but he ignored her concern.

"You have been removed from Gotham and taken to my private estate in Scotland," the serpent explained precisely, peaking Joker's attention once more. "You are in the company of witches and wizards now… because you are ignorant to our kind, and no doubt to anything outside that turbulent city you call home, you are likely to be unaware of who I am."

"I wouldn't have asked otherwise," Ivy sneered, her hands in fists at her side. He must have pissed her off with the rose thing, because she had been fairly level-headed thus far. Joker frowned for a moment. Wizards and witches… He knew of the Scarlet Witch, but only by name, and remained unsure if she was capable of producing real magic. Now these guys must have been the real deal… those sticks must have been wands. This could turn out to be a really, really good time, but he needed to play his cards right. Time to get serious. Again.

"Among my kind, I have many names," the serpent continued, ignoring Ivy's defiance, "as you do, Pamela… or I suppose I might call you Poison Ivy? Regardless, my true name is Lord Voldemort, but you shall address me as 'my lord', should you ever do so directly."

Ivy seemed less than impressed at the notion, but Joker was eager to play! This guy was the real deal over here. Real deal villain. He had been waiting for a long time to meet someone that might be at par with his skills at causing destruction. Now, he obviously had no idea what this guy was like, but the way his minions cowered signified the sheer power he had. No conclusions could be reached until he saw him in action, and hopefully that would be sometime soon.

"Why are we here?" Ivy demanded, much less impressed with Voldemort's presence than Joker.

"In good time, in good time," Voldemort insisted. "Even to us, your exploits in Gotham are famous. I like to keep an eye on potential enemies, both here and globally… but I'd like to see this as an opportunity not to be enemies, but allies."

"Dunno if you noticed, friend," Joker mused, "but Pammy doesn't exactly ally herself with the humanoid sort."

"And you?" Voldemort demanded, finally giving Joker a smidgen of attention, "You're the one I hear the most about… the Clown Prince of Gotham, a rabid dog bent on sending the whole world to hell."

"You flatter me," Joker chuckled, waving off the compliment. "My alliances are where the getting's good, if you know what I'm saying."

He noticed Ivy give him a bit of a funny look, one that signified she knew he was lying, but he ignored her. In all honesty, Joker wasn't really a fan of alliances. He could get people to work for him, to achieve an end, but he wasn't about to sign his life away to work with someone else. It wasn't really his style. However, it seemed like this was the type of deal this guy was looking for… and if agreeing to it got him out of shackles and into the real world again, he was more than happy to strike a deal.

"I need a professional to help bring the Muggle world to their knees-"

"Muggle?" Joker croaked, "What's a Muggle?"

"You," the Bella woman snapped, poking him in the head again with her wand. "You're a Muggle… filthy and non-magical-"

"They may not be, Bella," Voldemort stated, silencing her with a mere whisper, "but we shall see. What do you think, Clown? Interested in a little chaos?"

He shot Ivy a look, and she shook her head. With a laugh, his head lolled to the side, "Always."


	3. My brand of perfume

A tea set rattled slightly as Alfred Pennyworth carried a tray up toward Bruce Wayne's bedroom. After the Wayne manor had been rebuilt – finally – the pair was quick to move back in and out of their penthouse suite in downtown Gotham. His employer was most eager to get the Bat Cave functional again, and had been down there for almost two weeks straight. Alfred offered advice when he could, but Master Wayne knew exactly what he wanted, and a little cajoling from his butler wasn't about to change his mind.

Even if it was a better idea…

However, Alfred was very insistent that Bruce got enough sleep these days. After the ordeal of locking up the Joker, again, Gotham's true superhero was a wreck physically. He could inject himself with God knows what to build up his strength, but Alfred knew the only real way to let the body heal was to let it mend itself during the sleep cycle. So, even if his employer protested or threatened, Alfred always shooed him off to bed at around two in the morning, giving him at least six hours when he awoke at eight. However, when Alfred read the front pages of the newspapers this morning, he realized that Bruce probably needed to get up a little earlier to face the day. When he arrived at the master bedroom on the second level, he realized Bruce had the exact same thought. Poking his head in, a quick look around indicated that the room had been empty for some time. Sighing, he turned on his heel and went back downstairs, his old bones protesting only slightly to all the stairwork this early in the morning, and stepping into the secret elevator that brought him down to the Bat Cave.

When he arrived, his employer was seated in front of several large monitors off to the side of the darkened underground layer, his hands sitting limply on his lap. From what he could tell, he was watching the early hour news feed.

"Have you seen this?" Bruce asked before Alfred said a word. The older man pushed some papers aside on the table in front of him, careful not to knock any computer keys or controllers, and began setting out a cup of tea for him.

"I read it in the paper," Alfred explained. "Most unfortunate that the Joker escaped… again."

Arkham had experienced yet another security breach the night before. In his opinion, Bruce ought to buy the damned facility and run it himself as Batman. After all, that would keep the crazies in line, and he was bound to have a better control over the place with a Wayne Security system. However, he kept that thought to himself. Both Batman and Bruce had more than enough in their lives to worry about… They certainly didn't need a lunatic asylum thrown in there on an everyday basis.

"They've released some of the security footage," Bruce continued, pointing at the large screens. Alfred watched as some shaky video feed appeared of men in hooded cloaks blasting their way through the main entrance of the asylum, knocking guards out as if they were swatting flies. He frowned; neither of them had seen anything like this before.

"They don't look like the Joker's men," Alfred observed, folding his arms together. "Aren't they usually in clown paint?"

"Usually… Sometimes they look like normal thugs, but nothing like this."

"Could they be working for Miss Isley?" Alfred asking, "I recall the paper saying she broke out too."

"Poison Ivy doesn't work with people, let alone men in masks," Bruce replied, shaking his head. "I've never seen characters like this before…"

He leaned closer, freezing the screen and zooming in on the face of the intruders. They looked like twisted, deformed skulls in his opinion. He had to agree with Bruce. Out of all the insanity that roamed Gotham, Alfred had never encountered anything or anyone that dressed quite like this. Mind you, they sort of reminded him of those cloaked figures in films with cults. As far as he was aware, Bruce had a good handle on any and all cult activities in the area as Batman. If a new one sprung up, he was sure to know about it. There were enough weasely little informants in this city that someone was bound to know something.

"I regret that I haven't seen them either in all my years of service," Alfred admitted. "They appear to be using… lasers of some sort."

"That's what it looks like," Bruce agreed, "but the lasers would kill the guards, wouldn't they? Most were stunned when the police arrived, but not seriously injured. Most injuries came from falling ceiling, not direct attacks."

"How peculiar."

"I'll send the footage off to Lucius," Bruce decided, making a little note on a sheet of paper regarding his private weaponry and armour dealer from Wayne Enterprises, Lucius Fox. "If it's in a database somewhere, he'll already know about it."

"Very good, Master Wayne," Alfred agreed, knowing his old friend was bound to come up with something to help. "Will you be collaborating with Commissioner Gordon and the police department this time?"

There was a long pause, most likely due to his employer's reluctance to interact with the police as of late. They had turned Gotham's protector into a criminal, and in collaboration with the press, succeeded in making him a renowned public enemy. However, Batman remained on good terms with police commissioner Jim Gordon, who secretly worked hard to keep any sort of leads on Bruce's secret identity well hidden. He may have remained friends with Gordon, but the rest of the police department would like nothing better than to serve Batman's head on a platter for the evening news.

"I'll send what I can to Gordon's home computer in an hour," Bruce said finally. "This doesn't seem like something they can handle alone, and he needs to know Batman is already working on it."

"Agreed."

"They seem dangerous, Alfred," the young man sighed. "We'll need to be especially careful."

Alfred frowned; every criminal in Gotham had some degree of dangerousness, but these new fellows certainly upped the ante. They were also going to have to up their game if they wanted to compete, and the old butler looked forward to discovering any ways that he might be able to help.

"Tea while you work, sir?"

"Yes… Just put in on the desk…" Bruce trailed off as Alfred mixed his tea, his face close to the monitors as he examined the culprits again in slow motion. There was a facial recognition software program running on one screen, elapsed time two hours, and still no hits. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

><p>Bellatrix Lestrange hated babysitting, and it wasn't a hate that applied solely to minding children. She felt as if she had been babysitting her sister and her useless husband since the Dark Lord returned almost three years ago. Now, years into their war against the dolts of the wizarding world <em>and<em> the filth that lived in the non-magical world, Bellatrix found herself incredibly flustered at the fact she now had to watch a clown. In her home. A Muggle clown at that. Now that she would ever question the Dark Lord, a man who she had worshipped since her early twenties, but even in her post-Azkaban demented state, she couldn't piece together an explanation that would explain why he entrusted her to mind this Joker fellow. Naturally, she _was_ the best out of all his other servants, but that was obvious to anyone. Since she was top dog, Bellatrix ought to have more serious tasks to do for the war effort. This was just… ridiculous. Of course, she would never voice that. She thanked the Dark Lord endlessly when he told her Joker would stay with her, and the redheaded woman was to live with Severus, who seemed to suddenly have a foul scent under his nose. The plant bitch seemed equally displeased, but neither said anything. The clown wouldn't stop leering at her as soon as they found out he was to live with her. It was disgusting, but she would have no problem cracking his miserable face in two should he misstep.

Rodolphus had no opinion on the clown staying at their manor. She neither asked nor cared if it upset him. Azkaban spoiled him. Before prison, husband and wife were unstoppable together. He shared her cruelty, malice, and lust for all this dark. They were a perfect match. Her love and adoration went to the Dark Lord, but her companionship and kinship went to her husband. In a way, he was exactly what she needed. They tortured the world together, wands and souls linked until the Dementors took her darling Rodolphus and ruined him. He came out of prison almost lifeless, spoke in brief, slow sentences, and rarely made conversation around the house. Naturally, he was still a killer. The Dark Lord found uses for her poor husband, but he was barely the man he was twenty years ago when she met him formally. Bellatrix came out of prison deranged, more set in her twisted ways now than ever before. Rodolphus may as well have died in there. He lost his role in the inner circle, and barely moped farther than his study or bedroom on a good day. She wasn't about to sit there and hold his hand. Nearly fourteen years of distance and a complete change in her husband's personality later, Bellatrix almost felt nothing for the man. He may as well have been another piece of furniture around the house.

She played an active role in the war, just as she knew she always would. First came the downfall of the Ministry, and then the instatement of the Dark Lord's regime. There were some glitches along the way, namely a certain Harry Potter who was bent on making her master miserable, but no hostile takeover could ever go according to plan. Unfortunately, Harry Potter remained elusive. He knew her master's weakness, had broken into her vault at Gringotts and stolen something belonging to the Dark Lord, and was on the run with two of his miserable little teenage friends. How three children had managed to evade not only the Dark Lord, but every single other witch and wizard who served him was completely beyond her comprehension. She wanted to wring his filthy little halfblood neck and hang him as a flag outside her house. Bellatrix wanted to set the Weasley boy in fire and run him through downtown Diagon and carefully cut off every finger of the Granger bitch and take out her tongue. Let them try to practice magic after she was through with them! Mudbloods and blood traitors alike certainly didn't deserve the utter a single magical word, and if she could have it her way, she would see that they all received the same punishment.

Unfortunately, the Dark Lord told her she wasn't stable enough to work in any Ministry position. For some time, she lobbied to be part of the Mudblood Inquisition, but she was bound to kill more than imprison, which for some reason her master labeled 'extreme'. Mind you, he said it so lovingly that it made her hair curl, but that was another matter. For now, he sent her to assassinate old Ministry traitors with one or two other Death Eaters, Bellatrix always in charge. He seemed hesitant to have her do anything _but_ kill, as they were both aware that she sometimes lost control between extreme torture and a prolonged death. It couldn't be her fault that he trained her so well! However, as she started to panic over his unwillingness to give her anything truly worthwhile, along came the clown. Although the Dark Lord hadn't told any of his Death Eaters, not even Bellatrix or Severus, his plan for the two Muggles he had taken from America, Bellatrix decided the man must be too important to be trusted with anyone else. From the brief information she had heard from her brother-in-law, the man was severely deranged, much like herself. She was eager to see if how much Lucius Malfoy exaggerated the clown's capabilities.

She had only had the man in her home for a half an hour before she felt like she needed to throttle him. As soon as she apparated him away from the Dark Lord's basement dungeon, she felt at a loss for what to do with him. The Dark Lord wouldn't need his skills until the week was over, which meant there was another four days that he served no real purpose. First thing she did was demand he remove his make-up, as it was grotesque, but he told her that he wasn't wearing any. Upon further inspection, Bellatrix discovered his ridiculously pale skin and bright red lips were actually his features, as if his skin had somehow been tainted. He was appalling to anyone's sensibilities, but he seemed to have no notion that his physical appearance was disheartening. Before she could stop him, he bounced around her manor, examining rooms at will and getting into shouting matches with portraits of her relatives, most notoriously with her mother. Honestly, not even an hour in the house and he was already causing havoc. She eventually found him with her husband in his study. At first she hadn't thought to chase him, but a moment of clarity hit her when she realized he might escape through a window. She ought to get her husband to set up wards when he could bring himself to do it.

Rodolphus was playing a solo game of chess and merely stared blankly at the clown when he pulled up a seat in front of him. Bellatrix stood in her doorway of the study, her hands in fists, and glared at the bubbling fool her master had produced from Gotham. Finally, she entered the room but said nothing to her husband, who hadn't even looked up to acknowledge her. Joker hunched over the board, on the side of the white players, and then frowned. For a moment, serenity erupted; pure silence. He then tried to lift knight, to which the piece protested noisily, the horse whinnying at the touch. The clown was stunned.

"You can't just move them," Bellatrix sneered. "You have to command them. It's a terribly difficult concept for a Muggle to grasp, I know-"

"Knight to E-7," the clown said suddenly. The piece moved, and he grinned as the knight dismounted its horse and then hacked away at her husband's king, taking the piece and effectively winning the round. "Check mate."

Rodolphus slowly picked up his pieces and blinked vacantly as the board reset itself. The clown suddenly burst out laughing, "Cheer up, guy! There's more life in your king than I can see in you!"

"Enough," Bellatrix snapped, unwilling to stand in her husband's pathetic presence anymore. "Let me put you in your room."

"But, Ma," Joker protested as she grabbed his sleeve and hauled him out of the chair, "we only just started playing!"

"You can play with me, if you like," Bellatrix drawled dangerously, shoving him out of the room and slamming the door behind her, "but I think I'm a little rougher than the knight."

"Oh, baby, you know how to press my buttons," he purred, shivering dramatically. "I think I'm going to like it here!"

"Don't get too comfortable," she snapped as she decided she couldn't give him any more suggestive lines. "The Dark Lord will find you tiring eventually, and we'll have you thrown back into the Muggle dump where we got you from!"

"The old use and abuse, eh?" the clown chuckled, "I'm like a drug… Once you start on the Venom, you're hooked for life!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Bellatrix snapped, rolling her eyes. "I'm putting you in your room… Step out of it, and I'll cut off one of your toes."

He stared at her, and then erupted in a fit of giggles again, "I get it! Don't put a toe out of line! You hoot, you!"

Bellatrix wrinkled her nose at him as he cocked his head to the side, a lopsided grin on his ruby reds, and then turned on her heel, "Down the hall, last door. Go."

"Ah, ah, ah, ah," he insisted, strolling away from her with his hands behind his back, his filthy prison uniform ghastly against the walls of her pristine manor, courtesy of their shell of a house elf, "I need food, oh captor my captor. Either summon me a sandwich, or I'm off to rummage in your fridge."

Ugh, she forgot he would need the basic necessities to live. Unfortunately, she had no food anywhere in the house. The woman had been mooching off of Narcissa for the past week, leaving Rodolphus to somehow fend for himself, and hadn't instructed the house elf to pick anything up yet. There was no point if she was seldom home to stock the house full of food. If her husband wanted it so terribly, he could order it himself.

"Haven't got any food," she told him, making him stop. He gave her a once over, and then smirked.

"I was wondering how you kept so trim-"

"Don't you dare look at me!" she shouted, covering the distance between them in a few short strides and pushing him against the wall, wand at his throat, "I'll take out both eyes if you don't keep them to yourself!"

The clown pushed his head forward a smidgen and inhaled deeply. He then licked his lips, "I know that smell."

"What?"

"It's the scent of insanity," he informed her, his eyes dancing gleefully, "and baby, you're wearing my perfume."

"You're scum-"

"Talk dirty to me-"

Before she could stop herself, Bellatrix slapped him firmly across the face. The Dark Lord had forbidden both Severus and Bellatrix from using magic on their captives, unless they tried to escape or kill someone. However, she was painfully close to making him a dead clown if he didn't keep his ridiculous comments to himself. The slap seemed to have no real effect on him. Instead, he leaned back against the wall, a sly smile on his lips and simply stared down his nose at her. The only thing that managed to distract her was the painfully noisy rumbling in her stomach, indicating she shared his hunger. Damn it. Looks like her sister was going to be feeding her again this week…

"We're going to my sister's," she sneered, grabbing hold of him by the scruff of his neck. "Behave, or I'll have them feed you the dog's gruel."

"Sounds delightful."

With that, she apparated away, not particularly caring if he splinched himself on the way to Malfoy Manor. They arrived in the main foyer, and she instantly heard the sound of clattering cutlery from the dining hall to their left. A hand still tight on Joker's shirt, she lugged him down the hallway and stormed into the main eating room in the grand manor, only to spot Severus and the redhead seated at the lengthy table with her family.

"Oh, for goodness sake," Narcissa snapped, rising from her seat next to her husband. "Can neither of you handle your charges on your own for more than an hour?"

"I lasted longer than he did," Bellatrix droned as she nearly threw the Joker into a seat next to Draco, and then opted for one on the other side of the table next to her sister's vacant spot. The blonde witch summoned two new plates and some silverware. Bellatrix then helped herself to a steak, fully ignoring her brother-in-law's moody silence to her presence. Lucius may have tolerated her, but she was fully aware that he hated when she came round for dinners so often. A quick look at her nephew told her Draco was remarkably uncomfortable with the clown seated next to him, and had actually inched his chair away a little to avoid contact. Joker seemed oblivious to everything but food, and proceeded to load his plate up with potatoes and meat. The redhead, seated next to Severus, across from Narcissa, and at Lucius' left, shot her companion a bit of an unreadable look, and then resumed poking at her salad miserably.

What a happy Sunday dinner.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**I don't think I've ever written a Bellatrix this dark in thoughts before. I haven't done a post-Azkaban Bella in… well, ever, actually, so this is new for me. I'm very used to writing her before that shizz went down, but never after. I'm trying to find my footing, I think. Same with the comic Joker. It's all about finding my footing, I think. **

**And poor Rodolphus. But really, I feel like that's sort of the lot he gets given in the books too. No one cares for Roddy. **


End file.
